Edenham Comprehensive

Reuben glances at his watch, then at the clock hanging on the wall of the classroom, and frowns. Casey should’ve been back from P.E. ages ago. The rest of her class are. He can’t help but worry; in this school, anything could’ve happened. Even the teacher, Mr. Knightley, doesn't look particularly bothered by her absence.

At a loss for what to do, Reuben leans over and taps the girl in front of him gently on the shoulder. She turns around and immediately he regrets it; it’s Georgia Turnstile, a Grade 1 girl with a rep for being, well, terrifying.

“Yes?” she demands, her eyes flicking over him, assessing the threat.

“Have you seen Casey?” he asks, getting straight to the point.

She narrows her eyes. “You’re a Grade 3, aren’t you?”

He narrows his own. “Have you or haven’t you?”

She sighs, letting him know what a huge effort this is for her, as she flicks her unnaturally straight dark hair over her shoulder.

“Haven’t you heard?” she replies condescendingly. “She got done in P.E.”

Reuben frowns. “‘Done’? What's that supposed to mean?”

She sighs again. “You thick or something? She got done. Beat up, humiliated, whatever you want to call It.” A sick smile of twisted amusement crosses her face. Clearly, whatever happened, Georgia had a major part to play in it.

He stands up quickly, nearly knocking his chair over in his haste, his eyes narrowed at the girl in front of him.

“Reuben?” Mr. Knightley sounds suspicious as he calls out his name. “What are you doing?”

Reuben turns to address the teacher, careful to keep his voice even. “I don’t feel too well, Sir. Can I go to the medical room?”

Mr. Knightley still looks suspicious, but he nods anyway, and Reuben gratefully escapes from the class. His fists clenched at his sides, he stomps down the corridor, gritting his teeth to stop the anger from spilling out of him. He somehow manages to get outside without injuring himself or anyone else and heads straight for where he’s ninety nine per cent sure Casey will be.

He slows down just before the hole by the gates, suddenly hesitant. He can hear the soft sounds of someone sobbing hard but trying not to, and he knows instinctively that Casey would hate it if she knew he overheard. He starts humming as cheerfully as he can manage and the piteous sounds stop as he approaches. She’s turned her head away, so he can’t see her.

“Casey?” he says softly. “Casey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replies, her voice dull and lifeless.

He squats down to her level. “No you’re not. An idiot could see that.”

“Why’d you ask a question if you think you know the answer?” she says quietly.

“Casey,” he says, his voice soft as he reaches out to touch her. She flinches away, hugging herself tighter, and resumes her rhythmic rocking. “Casey, please. Just look at me.”

“No.” Her voice is hard and defiant, but he can sense the defeat in her.

“Casey,” he repeats, and something in his voice makes her stop rocking and look up at him, shaking the hair out of her face. Her eyes are red-rimmed and her cheeks are stained with black tears. There’s something distinctly vulnerable about the girl in front of him, something fragile and breakable that’s just about to smash into a million tiny pieces.

He reaches forward and thumbs away her tears, gently drying her face. She closes her eyes, letting him touch her, too tired to fight, too tired to care.

“I know what happened,” he says quietly. “Kind of.” Her eyes fly open, shocked. “Georgia told me.”

“Georgia?” She sounds bewildered.

“I asked her where you were,” he replies, answering her unasked question. “What does it mean, you got ‘done’?”

Casey winces, the memories still raw and bleeding. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Casey,” he says, but this time his tone is firm, exasperated. “Tell me. She said something about humiliation? A beating?”

She bites her lip, her stalwart confidence wavering, and then decides, to hell with it. “It’s an old tradition. I don’t know if the guys do it or not. Basically, at the start of every year, we have a little ceremony to 'celebrate' it. The losers of the first game to be played in P.E. get done. They elect someone to bear the brunt of the punishment and the whole class gets to humiliate them in every way imaginable.” Casey smiles thinly. “This year, it was me. I got done. They were pretty thorough, too.”

Reuben just stares at her, appalled. “And you just let them?”

“Reuben, what else was I supposed to do?” she snapped. “It’s okay for you with your naïve, idealistic view of the world. Good will prevail and all that shit. It’s all well and good saying all this stuff about standing up for yourself and telling Tyler where to shove his rules, but you don’t know what it’s like.” Her voice cracks, and she glances away. “You haven’t suffered through all this for four years. This is all I’ve ever known, and it’s never going to change. Ever. Got it?” She’s on the verge of tears, but swipes at her eyes angrily. “This is my lot in life, Reuben, and there’s jack all I can do about it.”

He looks at her, silent, for a few long, ageless seconds. “You know,” he says eventually, “That kind of cynicism… it’s just sad.”

“Yeah well.” Casey brushes away his concern like she couldn’t care less. Glancing at her watch, she grimaces. “We should probably go back to lessons. Mr. Knightley will be getting suspicious.”

He offers her a hand to help her up, which she takes, grudgingly, after a moment’s hesitation. He hauls her up, noticing her wincing slightly.

“What is it?” he asks suspiciously. “Casey?”

She shakes her head, but he ignores her. Grabbing her other wrist, he rolls up the sleeves of her blazer, gasping at the sight that glares back at him. Her arms are peppered with slowly purpling bruises, and there are a few nail-gouged scars along the length of them. He knows, almost instinctively, that the rest of her looks pretty similar.

Casey hangs her head, ashamed. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Oh yeah?” Reuben’s voice is uncharacteristically harsh. “Because it looks pretty bad from where I’m standing. Casey, what did they do to you?”

Biting her lip, she tugs her sleeves back down and pulls away from him. “I’m fine. Really.”

She starts trudging away, but a sudden dizziness overcomes her and she staggers, steadied only by strong, warm hands around her waist. Reuben's hands.

“Thanks,” she mutters, hoping her gratefulness shows in her voice.

“You’re welcome,” Reuben replies tightly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Reuben, I’m fine,” she insists, a note of irritation creeping into her voice.

He takes her by the elbow as gently as he can, careful not to touch her arm, and steers her away from the main school entrance around to reception, ignoring her feeble protests.

“You’re not well,” he informs her firmly. “I’m taking you home.”

“But what about English?” she appeals. “What about all my other subjects?”

Reuben swears under his breath, muttering something about her not having her priorities straight. “Casey, you look like you’ve gone nine rounds with Amir Khan. I’m taking you home, and that’s final.”

Casey falls silent, choosing not to protest as he guides her to the front desk. She’ll never admit it aloud, but it feels… nice, to have someone worrying about her and taking care of her for a change.

“Excuse me,” Reuben says to the woman behind the desk, “my friend’s feeling really awful and I think she ought to go home.”

The woman looks critically at Casey, taking in her ashen face and frail state, and finally nods. “I can see what you mean. What class is she being excused from?”

“English with Mr. Knightley,” Reuben replies without missing a beat. “He told me to take her home, because her mum’s at work and can’t pick her up.”

Casey knows the receptionist will never swallow Reuben’s story, but she appreciates his effort all the same. She’s about to tell him it’s okay for him to leave when the woman nods and smiles.

“That should be fine,” she says to Reuben. “Just make sure she gets home all right.”

“Will do, Miss,” he replies politely, turning to grin at the stupefied Casey as the receptionist signs two passes to say that they have been excused from school, just in case they get picked up by truancy officers.

“How did you do that?!” Casey exclaims once they’re safely out of earshot of the reception area.

He smiles knowingly. “The old Reuben Alcott charm.”

Casey rolls her eyes. “Yeah right. Seriously, though, what’s your secret?”

He shrugs. “There is no secret. I just have one of those faces you can’t say no to.”

She gives him a sceptical look, but doesn’t reply. They lapse into a comfortable silence, which remains unbroken for the whole of the journey to the Kenilworth Estate.

***

“Nice place,” Reuben comments, as Casey lets them into her flat.

She grimaces, knowing he’s lying. The walls are seriously in need of a decent lick of paint, and there’s clutter and rubbish everywhere. Casey’s mum is scatterbrained and messy to a fault, and though Casey tries to keep everything tidy, her mum inevitably messes it all up again. Just like everything else in their lives.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” she says shyly, still hovering by the door. “I mean, you’ve done what you said you would.”

Reuben gives her an are-you-serious look, before flopping down on the sofa. Casey joins him a few seconds later, albeit a little uncertainly.

“Do you want a drink or something?” she asks, scrambling for the part of her brain that remembers how to be a good hostess.

“A cup of tea would be nice,” he replies, nodding.

She nods, getting back to her feet, but he jumps to his own, motioning for her to sit back down.

“No, it’s okay,” he assures her. “I’ll make it myself. Want anything?”

“Um,” she says, dumbfounded, “I guess I’ll have a coffee. Black, no sugar.”

Reuben smiles slightly and sets off for the kitchen. The layout of the flat is pretty similar to his, so he finds his own way easily enough. Once there, he starts rummaging through cupboards, searching for the coffee and tea. It takes him a few minutes for him to realise the jars are out on the counter beside the kettle.

Chuckling at himself, he sets the kettle to boil and takes two mugs down from the cupboard. Spooning coffee into Casey’s mug, he moves onto his own, dropping the tea bag in and giving himself one more spoonful of sugar than normal. He figures he deserves it.

He hums under his breath, leaning against the counter as he waits for the kettle to boil. Once the steam starts to rise from it, he turns around and pours water into each mug, and then a generous helping of milk into his own. He grabs one mug in each of his asbestos hands, and slowly makes his way back to the living room.

Casey gives a start when she notices his approach, and takes the mug with a muted thank you. She holds it in her hands for a few seconds to warm them up, before blowing gently on the rippling surface of the liquid, raising it to her lips and taking a sip. It’s bitter and scalding hot, but that’s the way she likes it.

She risks a glance at Reuben, mid-way through her drink. He’s drinking his own, staring serenely at the floor as if fascinated by the stained, ageing carpet.

“Reuben,” she says softly, resting her mug on her legs to warm them up, “why are you here?”

He turns to her, surprised. “Why? Don’t you want me here?”

“Well, obviously,” she replies dryly, watching his face fall. “Joke. But you don’t have to be here.”

“I know,” he replies. “I didn’t want to leave you on your own.”

Casey drops her gaze to the floor, embarrassed and pleased at the same time. Suddenly, she can see what he finds so fascinating about it.

Pain sears in her forehead and she winces, pressing her fingers to her temples. Reuben notices, and his face furrows into a frown.

“Casey?” he says anxiously. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she mutters, shaking her head slightly. “Just got a bit of a headache, that's all.”

“Need some paracetamol?” he suggests.

Wincing, she nods. “There’s some in the kitchen cabinet above the sink.”

With a nod, he jumps up from the sofa, and strides into the kitchen. Rooting in the cupboard she specified, he finds a packet of Ibuprofen and figures it’s the same thing, before running back to her.

“Here,” he says anxiously, pressing the packet into her hands.

Taking it gratefully, she dry-swallows two tablets, massaging her forehead to help with the pain. Her shirt rides up slightly as she does so and for a sudden, insignificant moment, her bruised stomach is exposed. But it’s long enough for Reuben to notice.

“Oh my God,” he mutters. “That looks painful.”

Casey flinches, knowing without any reasonable doubt what he’s on about.

“Can I- can I see?” he asks tentatively.

She laughs humourlessly. “Reuben, I know you’re dying to see me naked, but is this really the right way to go about it?”

He just looks at her, and she sighs, defeated. Putting down her cup of coffee, she lifts up her shirt slightly to reveal the purpling skin underneath. Gingerly, Reuben reaches out and strokes the bruises, withdrawing his hand sharply when she winces with pain.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, but she shakes her head, letting her shirt fall back down.

“It’s fine,” she assures him, downing the rest of her coffee in one gulp. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t know what overcomes him. Maybe it’s the desolate look in her eyes. Maybe it’s the bruises lurking on her body like a swarm of violent ants. Maybe it’s just the fact that she looks so damn sad sitting there alone.

But whatever his reason is, it's hard to tell which one of them is more surprised when he leans forward a few centimetres and hugs her, his long arms reaching all the way round her back. Her own arms stay fixed at her sides, discomfort radiating from her in great waves, until he finally pulls away.

She’ll never admit it aloud, but hugging him was, well, nice.

This boy will be her undoing, she just knows it. She shakes her head ruefully, and a tiny smile starts to form on her lips. Reuben smiles a little unsurely back, reassured.

But there’s an awkwardness between them that wasn't there before, and he knows it’s down to him. Cursing himself, he decides to break the ice in the only way he knows how.

“So,” he comments, grinning cheekily. “It’s just you and me. We could be getting up to anything.”

Casey rolls her eyes and instantly, things are back to normal. “Yeah, you wish.”

He smiles, resisting the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. “Come on. You know you love me.”

“Only if ‘love’ is code for ‘put up with you only because I’m forced to’,” she replies teasingly.

Reuben clutches his heart dramatically, pretending to be wounded by her words. “You cut me deep, Case. You cut me real deep just then.”

“Wow,” she replies sarcastically. “Quoting Shrek. Now there’s a sign of true intelligence.”

Reuben cracks a smile. “You know what? I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Casey smiles back, and this time, the smile is entirely, wholly real.